STOP ME IF
by dreams.of.destiny
Summary: ...you've heard this one.
1. Heaven's Gates Now Require Passwords

introduction: This is WAAAY outside of my normal range (read: angsty, smutty, and absolutely lengthy Japan/China), but nonetheless, please bear with me in all my ridiculously OOC glory? I am trying, once more, for short quick and ultimately satisfying fanfictions - ones that involve OTHER CHARACTERS as MAIN CHARACTERS (yes, I too, wonder if I am capable!).

these include (but are definitely not limited to!): Prussia, Hungary, Liechtenstein, Switzerland, and Austria. And hell, why not Germany?

rules-of-the-game: If you happen to have the time to review, please type "STOP" if you've heard this joke (or some variant) before and "GO" if you've never heard this joke (either that, or I screw it up so badly that you can't quite distinguish the original). Pretty please? :D~

notes: Will be using human!names. Not a continuous storyline.

~x~

**STOP ME IF**  
[ _you've heard this_ ]

~x~

( table of contents )  
[01] - [Vash, Roderich, Ludwig, and Gilbert]  
[02] - [Lilli, Elizaveta, Roderich, and Vash]  
[03] - [Elizaveta, Gilbert, and Roderich]  
[04] - [Gilbert, Vash, Elizaveta, Roderich, and Lilli]  
[05] - [Roderich, Ludwig, Elizaveta, and Gilbert]  
[06] - [Roderich and Elizaveta]  
[07] - []  
[08] - []  
[09] - []

~x~

ONE  
[ Heaven's Gates Now Require Passwords ]

~x~

Roderich Edelstein felt that he had been, on the whole, a good human being. Sure, he could have cleaned up after himself a couple of times, and maybe he should've admitted to Elizaveta that he actually _couldn't_ read a map to save his life... before they were five hours into the road trip and stuck on I-54 without gas. But hey, they both made it out alive (no thanks to Gilbert, of course).

Which was why he was not surprised in the slightest when the pearly gates of Kingdom Come shone before him. The only thing that was surprising was the gateman, which happened to look dreadfully similar to a _certain trigger-happy swissman_ that was the head of the local bank. But no matter, really.

"Hey, Roderich!" Gilbert - of course - just _had_ to die mere minutes after him. "How are you doing, good buddy, old pal?" And here, he laughed, nervously, "Listen, before we get into the sparkly gates, I have something that I need to -"

"_Attention_!" Heaven's Guard commanded (and Dear Lord, he even _sounded_ like Vash Zwingli), interrupting Gilbert. Instinctively, the two of them saluted. "You will all form one single, orderly line before the Gates!" And then he cleared his throat in what might have been an embarrassed manner.

"Now... the thing is," the Guard started, and Roderich felt a sense of impending doom - which was ridiculous of course, he was in _heaven_ for crying out loud! Nonetheless, the feeling only increased as the Guard continued talking, "With all the recent catastrophes and pandemics, the angels have been busy making room in the seventeenth dimension for the souls of all the lost little children. However, Heaven can no longer let mobs of do-gooders simply storm the gate, you'll understand?"

Roderich nodded - even though the logic was ridiculous (seventeenth dimension?).

"The Hell!" Gilbert whined. Just like when they were alive, Roderich promptly elbowed the other into silence.

"As such," the Guard concluded, "Unless you feel that you've done something particularly marvelous - or died in a particularly _interesting_," And here, the Guard's eyes lit up a bit, before he coughed into the billowing sleeve of his gown, "A-hem, I mean, _tragic_ manner - please wait for the eighteenth dimension to properly accomodate you."

"This is _so_ not awesome at all!" Gilbert declared, and then looked towards Roderich, "Hey! Hey Roderich! What are you doing?"

"I happen to believe that I have died in an interesting and tragic enough manner to qualify for getting into Heaven faster," the aristocrat snippily replied. Gilbert rolled his eyes, muttering 'prick' under his breath before following the other.

"Name?" The Guard to the Gates of Heaven boredly asked, fiddling with something that looked suspiciously innocent, "And I'll have you know that I've heard _all_ the tragic and interesting stories in the world. I hardly believe that you'll be able to top them." And then he glanced at the golden clock, which hung perfectly by threads of time. "But oh well," he said, stifling a yawn, "Let's see what sort of thread you can spin, right?"

The grin was _scarily_ reminiscent of the one time Vash had caught Elizaveta and himself 'entangled' amidst the security cards and passwords.

"Roderich Edelstein," Roderich replied confidently, belying his niggling insecurities, "Alright, I'll be telling you about my death, which I happen to believe is rather strange, unusual, and tragic - of course." He pulled out a hankerchief, dabbing at his cheek - because it had been _his_ death, after all! - before continuing, "I reside with my wife on the fourth floor of an apartment complex, and we've been having a bit of trouble with a sneak thief, who had arbitrarily been stealing her undergarments and my music books."

Roderich breathed deeply here, remembering the carefully-marked texts of Beethoven and Wagner.

"My. Music. Books." He repeated, wringing his hands a bit.

Vash, er, the Guard, nodded - right as Gilbert collapsed in a hysterical coughing fit. Roderich, all too used to these spurts of mischaracterization, ignored his acquaintance and continued. "So the two of us decided to set a trap today - we set out a huge pile of music books and undergarments by the edge of balcony, and then proceeded to wait in our bedroom for the thief to drop by."

"Hardly a foolproof plan," the Guard remarked.

"That's why I'm here," Roderich crisply replied. "Anyways," he cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed, now that the pictures were coming back to him, full-force, "So the two of us waited in the bedroom for, well, about two hours. And then we heard scurrying in the music room - which was right next to the balcony - and we hurried down... only to find..."

"To find?" The Guard echoed, leaning forward. Gilbert had not stopped coughing.

"A man - hanging by the edge of our balcony!" Roderich inhaled. Again. "He was... he was desperately clinging onto my wife's undergarments, for he had fallen off of the balcony," he snorted here, "And his desperate, grabbling fingers were ripping the pages of my music books. He had... he had defaced my _perfect copy_ of Beethoven's Third! Not to mention Chopin's Raindrops!" Roderich's hands shook, in their fervor in searching for a throat to strangle.

Gilbert let out another - more final - hacking, wheezing cough.

Roderich steadfastedly ignored the other, for his tragic story needed to be told! "And so, I tried to shove him from the balcony, tried to pry his grasping, groping fingers off of my sheets and music books!" Another deep inhale. "And Elizaveta's undergarments," he added as an afterthought. "He wouldn't budge, he was screaming something about 'The manuals! The manuals!' so I simply... kicked him off."

"Naturally," the Guard responded, as Gilbert finally contained his coughs.

"But he wouldn't die. We were _only_ on the fourth floor, after all, and there were bushes and trees that cushioned his fall. And so, with the help of my wife, I lifted my grand piano up to the balcony -"

"Your grand piano." The Guard repeated.

"The man had ripped pages twelve through twenty-four of _Classic Études_," Roderich said with a voice of steel. "I threw the piano at the thief, and did not even live to see if he died, for the weight of the piano was simply too great." He sniffed, _tragically_, dabbing with his hankerchief.

"That is..." the Guard started, more than a bit speechless, "That is possibly the _most tragic_ story I've ever heard!" And here, he embraced Roderich heartfully, bidding him a happy journey into Heaven and wonderful afterlife. Roderich smiled wanly, muttering 'Wagner... Chopin... Wolfgang...' under his breath, before making his way through the pearly gates.

Gilbert, of course, felt his jaw literally disconnect from his head.

"I'll be next then," a studious voice interrupted, coming forth from the crowd of other people, right before Gilbert was about to start _his_ story. Gilbert would've lashed out at the other, but the voice seemed rather familiar, and he whirled around, only to come face-to-face with -

"Ludwig!" Gilbert exclaimed, giving his little brother a _very_ manly hug. "What the hell happened to you? How did you die? Where was I?"

"I'll explain in my story," Ludwig calmly said, facing the somewhat-teary Guard of the Pearly Gates. "It started off as a normal enough day, my Italian friend from the seventh floor of the apartment complex was coming over, and I was busy drying his favorite type of pasta on my balcony. Then, to my horror, a little yellow bird flew down and stole half the container - filled with the pasta!"

Gilbert relapsed on the floor, choking. Ludwig - even more than Roderich - was used to this, and continued.

"Naturally, the manuals did _not_ say how to save your very expensive pasta from the claws of little yellow birds,"

"Naturally," The Guard echoed.

"And so, I had to improvise. The bird was perched at the absolute edge of the balcony, and I could have run to the grocery store to buy more pasta, but... my Italian friend was coming in less than two hours! And the manuals absolutely said to be prepared. And so, I climbed up to the edge of the balcony, and the bird flew off - and I lost my balance. And fell two floors."

"Two floors?" The Guard scoffed, "I doubt a fellow of your stature would be unable to survive such a fall."

"It wasn't a fall to the ground," Ludwig explained, "I live on the sixth floor, you see, so I fell to the fourth, and then there was a string. Of women's... underwear," and here, he blushed - the humiliation still perfectly ingrained in his mind, "I was desperate, you see? There was the pasta - and the bird - and Feli-I mean, the Italian friend. I... I clung onto the underwear, for no reason other than dear life, screaming for help."

"And the the musician and his wife - the ones that lived on the fourth floor - mistook me to be some burglar! I was screaming - the manuals did _not_ say anything of this sort - and, well, I just fell... four stories."

"But that didn't kill you." The Guard noted.

"No - I fell into foliage and survived, but the musician..." Ludwig shuddered here, "He threw a grand piano at me. And here I am," he concluded dryly, taking note of the leaking tears coming from the Guard's eyes.

"I'm so sorry, my good man! What a horrible misunderstanding!" The Guard clasped his hands together, motioning for the gates to open once more, "Please, please - go through! You'll meet the musician, he came right before you, and died in a such tragic manner as well!"

"Thank you," Ludwig said - as if this was the only good thing that had happened all day. Which, well, probably was, actually.

"And you?" The Guard asked, raising an eyebrow, and looking at Gilbert, who had _finally_ stopped shaking from the 'coughs', "You too, are dead - and you seem to know both the musician and the manual-reader. Do you, too, have a tragic and interesting story to share of your own death?"

"Well," Gilbert started - and then thought, oh-what-the-hell, because he was _dead_, for crying out loud! "Yes," he said - with an expression caught between grin and grimace, "Yes, I'm pretty sure my story is interesting as well. You see, I've been stopping by to visit two of my friends - who live on the fourth floor - and 'borrowing' some of their favorite things for an indefinite period of time. A bra here, a music score there," he gestured flippantly. "It was all fun and games, you see?"

The Guard's jaw had effectively been dislocated as well.

"Except for today, when the two of them thought they could trap me, since they didn't think my trusty Gilbird would be my eye in the sky. But it's not like it mattered, right? Because, you see, I was already there _inside the grand piano_..."

~x~


	2. And What Do You Call That

~x~

**STOP ME IF**  
[ _you've heard this_ ]

~x~

TWO  
[ And What Do You Call That ]

~x~

"Brother!" Lilli sweetly called through the halls of their home. "Brother!" She repeated, a little bit louder. Today had been such an exciting day - playing with Elizaveta and Roderich and Gilbird! She giggled in delight, remembering how the husband and wife had taught her how to bake a cake, topped with almonds and omelets no less!

"What is it?" Vash called back from the library. Lilli would have rolled her eyes if it weren't such a daily occurrence. "How were the Edelstein's?" He asked, glancing at her and giving her a once-over before returning to his work.

"They were lovely!" Lilli replied, "And very sweet!" she added, making her way to his desk. "Is there anything that you need help with today, Brother?" She had felt rather guilty about going out to play, particularly since tomorrow was the closing of the banks (some national holiday or another), and being the typical good sibling, felt it her duty to make up the lost time as much as she could.

"There's a couple papers to file, some letters to sign, if you're bored enough," said stack of papers - haphazardly compiled, as-per-usual - were perched at the absolute edge of Vash's once-expansive desk.

"Sure!" Lilli readily responded, taking the stack of papers and a pen.

And with that, the two of them got to the work that they did best - and so loved: bank records. Vash scooted over a bit, to make room for his sister, as she wedged a chair in the leftover space of the table. Papers were shuffled, reorganized, and signed, before being scanned off and folded into their respective pockets.

A typical afternoon, as per usual.

"So what activities did you do with Elizaveta and Roderich?" Vash asked, as the two of them were halfway through the Barclay's receipts and refunds. "They're not" Vash started, narrowing his eyes suspiciously, "teaching you any... inappropriate... things, now are they?"

"Inappropriate things...?" Lilli echoed, looking up from the 2009 sheet detailing the purchase of four thousand Swiss Francs worth of _cleaning supplies_, "Like what, Brother?"

"Like..." Vash tried, accidentally crinkling half of his numbers-sheet, "Like... _nevermind_!" He grumbled something or another in French, before returning to studiously retaining figures. "Just make sure to tell me if the two of them happen to teach you anything weird," and here, he reached for his ever-so-handy Swiss Army Gun (even more versatile and deadly than the knife!), before going back to the comforting figures.

"Oh, actually!" Lilli piped up, having finished reviewing the records and appropriating the correct amount of signatures, "Today, Elizaveta and Roderich _did_ teach me something new!" She smiled, fondly remembering, "They were really surprised when they learned that neither of us could bake a cake -"

"And did you tell the Edelstein's that that's because baking cakes are for people who do _not_ hold up the entire financial sector of Europe?" Vash snidely put in. Lilli actually did laugh this time, before shaking her head and continuing with,

"And because neither of us could bake a cake, they said they would teach me one of their Habsburg recipes!"

The pen dropped from Vash's hand.

"H-Habsburg recipes?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Lilli - being the good little sister she was - studiously bent down to retrieve the pen, handing it back to her older brother. "Lilli," Vash started, taking the pen, only to put it down, "Surely you've learned about the long and terrible dynasty of the Habsburg, and how through the generations and decades, their line finally ended when -"

"- Charles I wife gave birth to a foot!" Lilli completed with a smile.

"Yes, well, not quite," Vash dryly replied.

And then he thought back to Charles II.

"Well, actually, maybe that description is actually very true." And then he cleared his throat, because that was _hardly the point_, "But nonetheless, these Habsburg recipes are, well, recipes for disaster - there's a reason why they're dead and we're still alive."

"Yes, yes," Lilli dutifully replied. "But all the same, I thought it was a delightful cake recipe, brother!"

"Alright," Vash acquiesced, picking up his pen and starting on the figures once more, "Why don't you tell me about this Habsburg recipe, and when the bank holidays come, we can make it together."

"It's really simple, and very delicious at the end!" Lilli started, scooting forward her chair to critique her own handiwork once more, before marking it 'complete' and putting it in the to-be-posted pile. "You start off with four cups of baking flour, some chocolate, and some lemon extract. There's a whole list of 'necessary ingredients' that Elizaveta gave me," and here, she pulled out said list, much to Vash's surprise, "Baking powder, honeymelon, cantila cantabla, rosemary, five eggs, and three tablespoons of salt."

"Alright," Vash said, seeing nothing wrong with the 'necessary' ingredients. As such, he continued to steadfastedly enter numbers into his spreadsheet. "And then after you've assembled the most basic ingredients?"

"You then feed it to a Holstein cow, chop the cow in half before it can properly digest all of the ingredients, and take out the cow's stomach, liver, and esophogas, so as to make sure _all_ the ingredients are kept!"

"Wait - _what_?"

"Yes, that's not all," Lilli sighed, reading off the lengthy and detailed instructions which Elizaveta and Roderich had so sweetly and nicely printed for her, "Then you decapitate the already-chopped-up cow, drain it entirely of its blood, and set the whole thing to boil at about 230 degrees celcius." She moved the baking instructions a bit lower, so that Vash would be able to read them as well. "Then you a take a hen - it can't be a rooster, apparently, because it brings bad luck."

"It brings bad luck," Vash echoed, the facts and figures and numbers all but disappearing from his mind as there _in front of him_ was -

"Elizaveta said that hens are much easier to cut open, you see?" And here, an adorable little picture - that was rife with blood and detail - of Lilli gutting and cutting (not necessarily in that order) a chicken had been placed on the instruction sheet. Vash blanched. "Anyways," continued Lilli, "You take the hen, cut off _her_ head and legs and wings, and stuff _that_ into the stomach of the cow. Boil the whole mixture for about three hours, inside the 230 degrees celcius cow blood."

Vash could not quite tear his eyes from the 'helpful' photographs which Elizaveta (and probably Roderich) had placed on the sides of the instruction sheet.

"Then you bake the solid substance in a oven for four hours, and take it out, and top with almonds and omelets," Lilli concluded.

"_What_?" Vash repeated.

"It's really rather delicious!" Lilli earnestly added, "Elizaveta and Roderich gave me a slice of this cake - the omelets and almonds _really_ bring out the taste of the chocolate and lemon!"

"And what..." Vash tried to hold in his bile, "And _what_ do they call that kind of recipe...?"

"I don't know the real name," Lilli cheerily replied, "But Roderich called it 'The Aristocrat'!"

~x~

Miles away, a certain Gilbert Weillschmidt was running away at superhuman speeds, namely because his pursuer - a notorious Elizaveta Héderváry - was armed to the _teeth_ with frying pans and baking utensils. It was ridiculous, _they_ looked ridiculous, particularly with the Debussy in the background, and a cheery yellow bird flying right above overhead.

And Dear God, was he scared straight out of his mind.

"Gilbert!" Elizaveta shrieked, aiming one sharp-tipped icing dispenser at the mischief-maker, "How _dare_ you replace the recipe for 'The Aristocrat' _right before_ we gave it to Lilli and Vash!"

The frying pan could not be rusting fast enough.

~x~

"Stop" or "Go"? :D


	3. Putting Things In Perspective

~x~

**STOP ME IF**  
[ _you've heard this_ ]

~x~

THREE  
[ Putting Things In Perspective ]

~x~

The fact of the matter was, her world was _hardly_ 'Roderich and Elizaveta'. In fact, it had never been just 'Roderich and Elizaveta'. It might have started off as 'Roderich' and 'Elizaveta' separately, but the unpleasant truth was that they did _not_ actually fall in love at first sight and run away together. Though, thinking back, that would've been a funny story to tell the neighbors.

But sadly, because they did not manage to realize 'this is the perfect person for me!' simultaneously - outside intervention had been needed.

This of course, made it so that her world automatically became 'Roderich and Elizaveta and Gilbert'. It would be ridiculous to say she wasn't grateful; he was, after all, the person who introduced her to her future husband! But all the same, it would have been nice if the 'and Gilbert' had just been hastily tacked on. Or even in a smaller font.

It wasn't - naturally.

"That's hardly any explanation at all!" Elizaveta protested, though this was mostly for the benefit of the walls. "We go on our honeymoon, and he comes along to take every picture! We move into our new house, and somehow, he's there before us! We're decorating our walls, and somehow - his room, the one that he _barely lives in_ is the one that's first done!" She put her hands on her hips, huffing a bit, before muttering on with, "It's just ridiculous, how he's here all the time!"

And not just him - seeing as how Gilbert Weillschmidt was completely unable to exist as a third wheel, he decided to bring along his pet bird (which was adorable), his baby brother (who was so sweet), and even his 1860 Lager bottles (which were, actually, rather effective paperweights). And yes, they certainly brightened up the household; and _of course_ Ludwig was incapable of being anything but awkwardly adorable and helpful and sweet, but that was the beside the point.

The point, of course, was that Gilbert Weillschmidt was like a _tumor_.

A cancerous one, of course.

"I can't believe there's actually _silence_ in the house!" Elizaveta declared, exhaling happily and stretching her arms. Roderich had left for work, Gilbert had popped in momentarily, only to suspiciously pop out, without so much as a 'hello'. She had shrugged, figuring it was just another one of his silly moods or another. Nothing unusual.

"And now there's nothing to do," she mused, after all the bills had been paid, taxes filed, and ornaments swept (the laundry and cooking was reserved exclusively for Roderich, who deemed Gilbert's 'cuisine' unsanitary). With a shrug, she opened the care of the grand piano, tapping a C here - a G there. Roderich, being the darling he was, had taught her "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star", but she didn't think it quite captured the mood.

"No matter," she muttered, as the piano soon became boring.

There were plenty of things to do, of course. Kiku had just sent her a new shipment of doujinshi, Yao was begging for the one-of-kind Kitty-chan she had carelessly made, and Lilli... ah, yes, Lilli. Grinning all the while, she dialed up Vash's cute little sister.

"Ah, Lilli?" She asked immediately, only to have her grin turned upside-down at the flat reply. "Oh... Vash..." she said, snapping her fingers beneath the phone, "I was wondering, if your little sister home? Oh, really? At the conference for mutual investments? That's alright, certainly! Well, will you tell her I called?" Elizaveta sighed - one plan of entertainment foiled - "Oh, and thank you!" she added, right as she was greeted with the dial tone.

"Well that wasn't too bad," she mused, hanging up the phone on her end as well, "At least he actually listened to my request, and only managed to put in _two_ thinly-veiled threats!" Elizaveta chuckled to herself, "Lilli must be turning him soft." Then she got up from the chair, glancing around the relatively-spacious home, "Now what will I do?"

Two hours of alternating between reading various Full House Kiss-esque stories and filing away mail order receipts (music scores and doujinshi, for the most part), and Elizaveta was officially _bored_.

"Oh _God_!" She grumbled, throwing her hands into the air, "There is seriously _nothing_ to do!"

A quick glance around the house - from the entrance to the hallway to the kitchen to the stairs - confirmed her complaints. Except, an idea began to form, right when her eyes darted right back up the stairs. "Unless...?" Elizaveta started, speaking to no one in particular _of course_.

"This'll teach him to steal my panties...!" She cackled - in a perfectly sane manner, she would argue - grasping the doorknob to Gilbert's room and twisting. Elizaveta wasn't too certain what to expect - Gilbert himself had requested that she never clean (or enter, even) 'his' room, and she had actually been caring and touching enough to honor his two-week-old request.

Pornographic magazines? But of course. Socks and shoes (and possibly boxers?) all sprawled haphazardly over the floor? It was only a given. Furniture overturned, and perhaps even gnawed off in some places - courtesy of Gilbert and _not_ Gilbird - those were the things Elizaveta was looking forward to laughing over when traipsing through Gilbert's room.

"Uh," she dumbly intoned, finding that the door was unable to move more than foot forward. "...What...?" She questioned, not quite believing the situation. "What... the heck?" Fruitlessly, she attempted to jiggle first the knob and then the door into cooperation. Needless to say, neither were the least bit cooperative.

"Stupid Gilbert...!" she muttered, forcibly crashing against the door. Once, twice, thrice - give or take a couple times, and eventually, the door gave way. "Always so -" Elizaveta paused in her rant and blinked, because the room was _nothing_ like she expected. A simple rope had been strung from the doorknob to the dresser, resulting in the door being unable to open. Said rope was now broken and said door was now a little unhinged.

But... aside from the rope and the door and the dresser, the room was strangely... _clean_.

"I know he lives here," Elizaveta muttered, rooting through the dresser for evidence of habitance - she found various clothes and undergarments as proof - before the envelope sitting on a (neatly-made!) bed piqued her attention. "Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, picking up said envelope. In handwriting that was only loopy and curly enough to be _Gilbert_'s, her name had been printed - rather neatly - on the top of the envelope.

She ignored the sense of impeding doom and opened the envelope.

_Hey Elizaveta_, the letter started out. 'You might want to sit down on a chair or bed or something before you read the whole of the letter, as there are some parts that are... well, shocking,' the first line read. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, sitting herself down on the bed, before continuing forth.

"I am writing to you on this remarkably cloudless day to thank you for all that you've done for me," She read aloud, refusing to believe it was actually Gilbert (the perpetual annoyance and unforgettable third-wheel of her life), "You've left me a room and seat at the table, and well, it's always felt pretty awesome to be with an actual family, right?"

''So anyways, the reason why I'm writing you this letter is actually _not_ to wax poetic about how much you've done," it continued - as the impending doom and terror Elizaveta felt compounded, "But to confess. You see, for the past years, I've realized... the possibilities, the missed opportunities, all the memories I _could_ have had. But didn't."

"I am sorry to say this," the letter went on, "But I am madly in love with your husband, as he is with me."

Elizaveta placed the letter down. Calmly. And then took a deep breath, reminding herself that _no_ Gilbert and Roderich would _not_ look absolutely _smashing hot_ together and that yes - it was her wifely duty to be enraged. And not at all drooling over the idea of the two of them. Together. Like that. She inhaled once more, steadying herself (and her racing, thumping heart!) before continuing.

"So we've come up with a plan to elope and run away. I understand that this is something drastic - not to mention entirely sudden and possibly out of character - but the thing is, Roddy here has got the most amazing long eyelashes." Elizaveta giggled here; that part was _so true_, "Not that you'll be feeling them ever again, of course," Gilbert had the nerve to add. One of her eyes twitched, but she plodded forth.

"Roderich has composed a _symphony_ - well, half of a symphony - for our love." More giggles - for Roderich had done the same exact thing for her - and then a darkening frown, when Gilbert just _had_ to ruin her good memories by adding, "Roderich has also noted that the half-symphony he composed for _me_ is five times better than he waltz he wrote for you."

"Gilbert... why you...!" Elizaveta muttered, clutching the godforsaken letter tighter. The rest of the letter ran something along those lines, mentioning (listing, really) the variety of tactics which Roderich had used to win her heart - and then jabbing on at the end "But he'll do _so much more_ for me."

But even that might have been bearable, if only because of a chance to _catch some pictures_ (and subsequently sell them to Kiku), except for the final sentence, which Gilbert just could not bear to leave out.

"And you'll never get to eat his pansy-ass cooking ever again!"

_Sincerely, Gilbert_.

"GILBERT!" Elizaveta shouted - again, to no one - ripping the blasphemous letter quite cleanly in half, "How _dare_ you call Roderich's cooking such a horrible name!" And right before rushing down stairs (to grab on her handy cooking pan and even-more-useful automatic rifle, no doubt), Elizaveta noticed something scribbled on the back to the now ripped-cleanly-in-half letter.

Thankful that she hadn't torn the horrible monstrosity to shreds, it was easy to put the two halves together and...

"Just kidding!" The Biggest Moron in the Universe had written, "I just wrote this to remind you that there are situations way worse than me and Ludwig kidnapping Roderich from his office and taking him for a guy's night out. We'll be at the skankiest bar in town - Ludwig and I have a bet on how much liquor your husband can hold. See you tomorrow - no need to leave a place at the table for us!"

~x~

A question: Would you like me to tell you the (original) jokes starting this chapter? The first chapter was "Three Men and St. Peter" and the second chapter was "The Aristocrats", just for clarification. And _kudos_! to xotsukiyume for catching 'The Onion' reference last chapter~ :D


	4. Always Better Safe Than Sorry

~x~

**STOP ME IF**  
[ _you've heard this_ ]

~x~

FOUR  
[ Always Better Safe Than Sorry ]

~x~

In all seriousness, it came as no surprise when Vash Zwingli signed up to be a police officer. Of course, in a town as small as their's there really only needed to be _one_ police officer, and the old officer for the town (a hard-browed lieutenant in the army who was known only as 'Germania') felt that it was high time to retire.

As such, it also came as no surprise when Vash graduated a good _five months_ ahead of schedule - and with extra awards. After all, as Gilbert had so eloquently put it, 'instead of a heart, the guy's got a frikkin' rulebook and gun!'

"Better watch out," Elizaveta said with a grin, as the the three of them - herself, her husband, and their 'friend' - sat down for their weekly 'tromp through the bar', "I know you can drive late and shoot straight, even after fifteen shots, but Lilli's older brother definitely knows his way around town."

"Hah!" Gilbert scoffed, downing his sixteenth pint of lager (damn - it was a Samuel Adam) in one go. "He sure talks and walks big, but I'm betting that as soon as the drunkards start drinkin', his morale'll be sinkin'!"

"Are you actually planning on getting anywhere in that inebriated state?" Roderich snippily asked.

"Of course!" Gilbert responded, wobbling to his feet and heaving himself out the door, much to the discomfort of everyone else in the bar. Elizaveta hid a snicker behind her hand; this was going to get interesting fast. Right before leaving the bar entirely, Gilbert slurred out, "Like a couple shots of this cheap shit is going to get me down!"

And then he promptly walked into the telephone pole.

~x~

"You," Vash monotoned, flashing his brand-new sparkling officer badge at the offender of law, "Is there a particular reason why you were going at... 140 kilometers per mile?"

"Ah~" said offender started, "It's a really long story, but when I woke up a little bit late today -"

"I don't want to hear your excuses," he interjected, forcing open the door of the car, "Step out the car; speeding is a dangerous offence, particularly in a small town like this, and do you have any idea..." Vash trailed off, as the owner of the car stepped out of said car, revealing a passenger seat that was crammed to the brim with... _pasta_.

"What is the meaning of this?" Vash demanded.

"Ve~?"

"Are you... _illegally importing_ pasta from the Iberian Peninsula?"

"N-No!" the would-be-criminal disclaimed, "I-I-I'm a juggler!" He desperately put forth, not wanting to lose the pasta that he had bought, "I juggle various things, but I thought that pasta would be so much safer than knives! And I can juggle twenty-five pasta bowls - filled with pasta - all together! And then eat them! All on stage!" He nodded - vehemently.

Needless to say, Vash did not look convinced.

"Look, ve~" the pasta-lover tried, "I can show you with my leftover pasta from yesterday!"

~x~

Feeling indescribably better - especially after kicking over a few trashcans, beer bottles, and cars - Gilbert cheerily hummed away on his route home. Five miles away, he pulled over immediately, jumping out of the car and rubbing his eyes. Once, twice, and then again - because _surely_ that had to be soem figment of his overactive (and possibly still tipsy) imagination.

"Elizaveta! Elizaveta!" Gilbert hissed into his cellphone, moments after he had reversed the direction of his car, "Vash is absolutely _out of his mind_! He's making Feliciano juggle steaming plates of pasta to make sure he isn't drunk!"

~x~

"What was that?" Roderich asked, as Elizaveta shut her cellphone resoundedly.

"Oh, Gilbert was apparently more drunk than we thought," his wife replied with a snicker, "The alcohol managed to convince him that Vash was making Feliciano juggle plates of steaming pasta."

The two of them shared a good chuckle on their way home.

~x~

Five days into patrolling the streets and corridors (and questionably alleyways that should've been torn down in the first World War), and Vash had come to the irrefutable conclusion that the people who shared the town as their home were absolutely out of their minds.

He was also finding a new respect for Germania - the old police officer - for being able to patrol such a small (but crime-rampant) town for _decades_ and not lose his mind entirely.

He had sent the rambling pasta-juggling Italian off with only a traffic citation, as the other _apparently_ could juggle twenty-five steaming plates of pasta. To say nothing of the barkeepers - who were definitely in-league with the fruit-stealers - and _Gilbert_. The latter's 'crimes' quite easily took up three-quarters of the books.

'At least there's no arson,' he thought to himself, as a brunette in a blue sedan sped by him at _easily_ 100 kilometers per hour. Elizaveta, he thought, hopping onto his specially-commissioned police motorcycle and speeding after the other.

In no short terms, Elizaveta not only ignored the trailing motorcycle, but actually had the nerve to _increase her speed_ before swerving a sharp left and stopping right before a lone gas station.

When Vash had caught up, the gas station's owner only raised an eyebrow, before pointing to the restroom.

Seeing as how it wasn't a particularly serious crime - even as crimes in this little town went - Vash simply posted himself right in front of the bathroom door, figuring that he could apprehend Elizaveta as soon as she stepped out.

The door, apparently, swung out.

"Oh My God - _Vash_!" Elizaveta cried out, helping the fallen police officer to his feet. "I'm so sorry; I didn't think that you would be waiting right outside the door!"

"Elizaveta?" A voice that Vash knew all too well called from the restroom, "Is something the matter?"

"Oh no, dear!" the other replied, "Take your time, no worries!" She quickly dusted the officer off a bit, laughing sheepishly. "Your little sister needed to use the restroom, but there wasn't one for _miles_, so we were rather desperate," Elizaveta offered as a means of explanation.

And despite the fact that he had wasted a good five gallons chasing after her (and her ridiculously fast blue sedan) _and_ had a somewhat sore nose as a result of the whole godforsaken incident, Vash could only gruffly mutter something along the lines of a _thank you_ before turning around and getting back on his motorcycle.

No infractures of the law were recorded.

~x~

"He's a real sweetheart," Elizaveta said to Gilbert, as the three of them reconvened at the same bar a week later. "We were easily going at 115 kmph, but he didn't even write us a ticket!"

"Bull," Gilbert ground out - absolutely refusing to believe.

"Perhaps that is merely because you were escorting his little sister," Roderich put forth, as _someone_ had to be the voice of reason.

"Then he's such a wonderful older brother!" Elizaveta sighed - almost dreamily - before narrowing her eyes and looking at Gilbert in an accusatory manner. "Unlike someone we know all too well," she added.

"What are you talking about?" Gilbert demanded, "I'm the most awesome brother in all of Europe!"

~x~

The following week, Elizaveta and Roderich arrived at the bar at the usual time - nine in the evening. Gilbert, who normally came on-time or even _early_ had yet to show. Roderich raised an eyebrow, before ordering a toast to the yellow bird who was more of a caretaker of Gilbert than the other way around.

Elizaveta agreed whole-heartedly, following through with the toast.

"Oh! My! God!" Gilbert ground out, crashing through the bar seconds before their glasses would have clinked. "Five cups of lager," he demanded of the barkeep, "And make sure to make it cold as hell!" he added.

"What happened to _you_?" Elizaveta asked - the most obviously pressing question. "You look terrible!" With a practiced flourish, Roderich drew out one of his many hankerchiefs, handing it to Gilbert.

"Ew - I'm not wiping off my blood with an embroidered hankerchief!" Gilbert protested, flinging the ladylike fabric away, much to Roderich's displeasure. And then the bartender carried out the ice-cold glasses of lager. "Hey, bartender!" Gilbert called out, "I only ordered five glasses, why'd you give me six?"

"Sixth one's on the house."

"_Sweet_," Gilbert whistled, joyously downing a glass, "You know, the black eye hurts like hell, and the cut lip is no laughing matter, but if this'll get me free beer, I should go get beaten up more often!"

"Moron!" Elizaveta admonished, after Roderich had gone and retrieved the rejected hankerchief. "You look like hell warmed over," and for once, it was hardly an exaggeration, "Again - what did you _do_? Who did you manage to screw over so bad?"

"Vash - that bastard police officer!" Gilbert ground out, downing his second shot.

"I thought that police officers were not allows to use their fists while on duty," Roderich pointed out.

"Yeah, he didn't," Gilbert admitted, grumbling a bit while attempting to drown in his third shot. Elizaveta snickered - being the helpful and supportive friend she was. "The stupidly resourceful Swiss managed to use the _butt_ of the gun as a buffet!" Roderich raised an eyebrow, as Elizaveta simply laughed aloud.

"And what about you?" She asked, choking back another laugh, "Didn't you have anything at hand?"

"Well, yeah, _duh_," Gilbert replied, "I had his little _sister_ at hand." Elizaveta's jaw promptly dropped, as Roderich rolled his eyes, having expected nothing else. "Man!" Gilbert continued, rubbing at his sore cheek and remaining oblivious to their reactions, "She's really sweet and all, but definitely not as good as a gun in a fight!"

"You deserved every blow," Roderich flatly said.

"Aw, c'mon!" Gilbert chided, clinking glasses with the other, "Don't you get all defensive on me too!"

~x~

It remains to be said, of course, that the town was - more or less - in good hands.

~x~

...Eheh. This chapter was actually three separate jokes, but they were too short individually. Last chapter's joke was "Dear Mom". I find that I'm having a _blast_ writing this story; thank you all for being such good sports!


	5. Let's Poke Out the Eye of the Beholder

~x~

**STOP ME IF**  
[ _you've heard this_ ]

~x~

FIVE  
[ Let's Poke Out the Eye of the Beholder ]

~x~

"C'mon Roderich," Gilbert tried to placate, raising his arms and offering some entirely manly version of the hug.

No response.

"Roderich!" Gilbert whined, resisting the urge to stomp his foot and huff. And then he thought about it, because here they were, stranded miles and miles away from any source of civilization, and _who_ was going to care if he acted a little immature? So he stomped his foot.

The other continued staring straight ahead, piano-playing fingers gripping tightly onto the steering wheel.

"You know..." Gilbert started, casting a wayward glance at wha was left of their vehicle (it had been a wonderfully-refurbished 1947 Benz as well!), "It hardly does any good to be holding onto a steering wheel when the car's got no wheels."

Roderich steadfastedly ignored the other, choosing to tighten his grip on said useless device.

"There seems to be a fire coming from the east," Ludwig - who had been out charting the barren land - reported. "The guide books that... burnt up with the back seat of the car..." he allowed a moment of mourning for said manuals, "The guide books said that it would be best to seek shelter and safety before the storm clouds came."

"What storm clouds?" Gilbert demanded, right as the droplets began to fall.

"Damnit!" He grumbled, grabbing a third of what meager belongings they managed to scavenge from the wreck of the Benz. Ludwig hoisted the other two-thirds onto his back, assuming that Roderich would be in no position to move anything.

Apparently, this 'anything' included himself.

"...Roderich?" Ludwig asked, as his brother made it to the deeply-forested area. "There's a fire up ahead. You're going to get drenched quickly, and getting wet heads to horrible affliction, such as pneumonia and hypothermia and... and _cancer_!" Well, maybe not the last one, but it was supposed to be motivating.

The other did not give any signal that he had heard Ludwig's words, choosing to stare deeply at the steering wheel, as if it would provide all the answers to his current predicament.

"Yo, Ludwig!" Gilbert called, from even further in the forest than before, "Are you and pansy-pianist boy coming or not?"

"He's not listening!" Ludwig called back, setting down said pack of items. "You go up ahead - I'll catch up with you!"

"You're kidding, right?" Gilbert snorted, having jogged back to their crash point. "Like I'd leave the two of you in this huge forest by yourselves! What would you guys do when a bear or tiger attacked? Scream for help and run away?"

Ludwig wanted to point out that that would be the most logical (and guidebook-approved!) course of action when dealing with ravenous forest animals, but Gilbert just brushed off his start of a retort, going over to their quasi-comatose friend. Ludwig stifled a sigh before following; Roderich did not bother to look up - and his fingers _still_ had yet to loosen their grip on the steering wheel!

"Hey, Roderich," Gilbert started, only to be cut off with a crisp, clear -

"Silence, Gilbert."

"Psh!" He scoffed, not at all put off, "Look, my little brother has found us some possible shelter, and the rain is getting pretty damnably bad. I understand that it was my fault for turning left -"

"Seventeen times, and then off a cliff," Roderich felt it necessary to add.

"Seventeen frikkin' times, yes," Gilbert repeated - exasperated (and couldn't these people understand that he was born to fight battles and win them and _not_ sit around reading maps?) - before continuing, "But the point being is that we'll never be able to retrieve those works of Wagner. Or Chopin. Or Beethoven."

"Who was _German_," Ludwig ever-so-helpfully added.

For once, _Gilbert_ was the brother to shoot a glare, hissing, "Do you want him out of the car or not?"

"I refuse to leave this vehicle without my books," Roderich primly stated, keeping his grip steady.

"Well I don't care about your first edition copies," Gilbert snappishly retorted. And then sighed, running a hand through his almost-drenched locks, "I didn't want to retort to this, because it makes _me_ sound like a pansy but... you do know that sitting out in the rain will cause moist bones. And moist bones will lead to inflammed joints and inflammed joints always, always, _always_ lead to arthritis."

Roderich was out of the car and into the foliage before Gilbert had a chance to finish.

"How did you - ?" Ludwig felt utterly justified in asking.

"He's a grade-A moron, that's for certain," Gilbert grumbled, picking up half of Ludwig's pack of items and following after a still-somewhat-angry Roderich, "Cares more about his fingers than his own life!"

Somehow or another, the three of them managed to locate where Ludwig had seen the smoke clouds, despite the fact that said fire had now been clearly extinguished, namely due to the downpour. The source of said blaze was, apparently, a huge manor, situated smack-dab in the clearing of the forest. The manor was tall and grand, with gray-eyed gargoyles overlooking the edges of the roofs, all while the thunderclouds churned in the background.

Ludwig swallowed, because something from his guidebooks and manuals had told him that going into said manor would be a bad idea.

"Maybe we shouldn't - " he tried to warn, but Gilbert was already racing up the steps, and Roderich had _already_ rung the doorbell.

"Welcome to the Bonnefoy Manor," a smartly-dressed butler said, bowing politely. Roderich, entirely used to such speech and mannerisms, easily shrugged off his soaked overcoat and waist-jacket. Gilbert did the same, albeit in a less practiced manner. Ludwig sighed, wondering if they needed introductions at all.

"So sorry to interrupt," he said, handing the butler his own jacket, "Our car... _overturned_... in the nearby woods, and we were unable to find any sight or sound of civilization, save for your manor."

"Unexpected guests...?" A cheerful voice interrupted from above. The three of them were entirely unprepared to see a blond man leap gracefully from one of the upper balconies. "Ah, well, what's three more or less in a party of easily a hundred, correct?" He laughed gaily, shaking their hands and pulling them towards the ballroom, "There's plenty to eat and drink, so be merry, as the English would say!"

"And who might you be?" Roderich - of course - and without batting an eye at the festivities or... _food_.

"I am the host of this ball - and the owner of the mansion! Francis Bonnefoy, at your service tonight!" And here, he did a mock bow, before straightening and sweeping a hand through the masses of ladies and gentlemen. "Enjoy yourself to the fullest - eat, drink, and partake in a couple dances; there is only one rule for tonight's game."

"One rule?" Ludwig echoed.

"What's this about a game?" Gilbert asked at the same time, immediately smelling something suspicious.

"Yes, one rule," Francis repeated with a smile, "Do you see the assortment of flowered tiles on the floor? Notice how my guests of the evening are all mingling in circles - circles that make certain that they will not touch any of the rose-patterned tiles. That, _mes amis_, is the sole rule of tonight - you are not allowed to walk on any of the rose-patterned tiles."

"What if we do?" Gilbert immediately asked.

"Well..." Francis smiled again, "You'll just have to find out, now won't you?" And with a cheerful laugh and wave, he was off to the balcony of the manor once more.

"Don't step on the rose-patterned tiles, don't step on the rose-patterned tiles," Ludwig repeated for good measure.

It was _Roderich_ of all people that scoffed in response.

"Absolutely ridiculous, if you ask me - this music is _Liszt_, hardly to the waltz's taste at all," he muttered, carelessly walking forward. Ludwig pointed, and Gilbert watched with something approaching horror as their friend's foot just stepped on the closes rose-patterned tile.

"My dear fellow, so early in the game and already at a loss?" An entirely different butler appeared out of nowhere - taking a good five years off of Gilbert's life, if his heart had anything to say about it. "Well, here is your dancing partner for the evening," he pulled out an entirely hideous young lady, cuffing the two of them together.

Roderich didn't even have the time to protest as the butler strong-armed him (and his new 'dancing partner') towards the center of the ballroom floor - he was simply too speechless at the fact that her voice sounded like the death of a thousand cats.

"Poor Roderich," Ludwig managed to choke out, scooting farther from the dreaded tiles, "That man Bonnefoy wasn't joking about the consequences!"

"Oh My God," Gilbert stared on, "Was that - her face - those _legs_ - that _voice_ - was that even a _woman_?"

Needless to say, the two of them proceeded for the next hour and a half, sepping carefully away from any loud and noisy crowds, and as far away as possible from the rose-patterned tiles. But 'far away' meant four tiles at the most, seeing as how the manor's floor layout had been so carefully structured and precisely ordered.

All the same, one slip was all it took. It was Gilbert that had pitched forward, because of a _banana peel_ left carelessly on the floor. His feet slipped - fell right out in front of him, actually - and Ludwig instinctively grabbed his brother back. By the nature of physics, and equal and opposite reaction occurred, namely _Ludwig_ being the person to fall forward - and then, for a second -

His foot landed on the rose-patterned tile.

"Har har har~" another girl - even uglier than the one before (because at least the one before had a nose and all her fingers), to Gilbert's surprised (and Ludwig's rising horror) was brought by the butler that had let them in. She was laughing while being cuffed to Ludwig; laughing still as the two of them were dragged off in the same direction as Roderich.

"Gotta stay alive, gotta stay alive," Gilbert muttered to himself, glancing at the tiles all the way through. "Otherwise Ludwig's sacrifice would have been all in vain; gotta keep off the tiles... who knows?" And here, he shuddered, "The girl _I'm_ chained to might not even have hair - or legs - or _teeth_!" He would have all but screamed at at the terrifying image, save for the fact that he was now approached by yet another butler.

A quick glance at his feet showed him that no, he actually was _not_ standing on a rose-patterned tile.

"...And here is _your_ dancing partner for the evening," the butler concluded, clicking on the cuffs to possibly the most beautiful woman Giulbert had ever seen. She was a brunette - green eyes, pink lips, and a perfectly complimentary dress.

"Is this what I get for playing by the rules?" He choked out as they were led to the floor.

"I don't know about you," the lady started with a huff, "But _I'm_ here because I stepped on a rose-patterned tile!"

~x~

The jokes that appeared last chapter - in order - are "Really Hard Sobriety Test," "Lady Speeds to the Restroom," and "Policeman Versus Man Who Slept With His Wife." Sorry for taking a bit to update; I hope you don't mind the shortness of the chapters too much...


End file.
